Mother

I remember, I thought she was everything. Her visits, were sacred to my innocent heart. No doubt in mind, that she was perfect. I was twelve. Two years passed, and I still believed it. Then, things turned. She attempted things I didn't believe she was vile enough to do. She whispered empty promises, and in my head I still hear them echoing during lonesome nights. Times have changed. At sixteen years old it occurred to me that the person I thought was everything, had become nothing. I remembered the times she let my precious baby brother play in the street. I remembered how her hurtful comments about my body, my being, pierced through me like a sharp knife. I remembered the problems she caused, how I cried myself to sleep because of her cruel ways. And I asked myself...what kind of mother had she been? It was clear the woman I thought once beautiful, was rotten on the inside. Now, when she speaks, I hope she won't make my stomach churn with her wicked words. When she looks into my eyes, I pray she can't see my soul through the windows, and know how much she's caused it to blacken. When she's around, I can only ask myself What kind of mother had she been?